Lord of Darkness (Maiden Lane #5)(94)

Godric.

His nose was straight in profile and rather elegant, which was a funny thing to think about a man’s nose, but it was. The nostrils were slim and well defined, the bridge of his nose shadowed on either side. His mouth, too, had always been beautiful, his lips lighter than the surrounding skin, almost soft-looking. She raised a hand and touched. Lightly, tracing, feeling the slight scrape of his beard on one side, the smooth softness on the other.

His lips parted. “Megs.”

His voice, too, had always enthralled her. So gruff and low, sounding as if he’d spent the day shouting angrily at someone.

Except he wasn’t an angry man, not really, and certainly not with her.

He rolled toward her so that they were face-to-face. “You should sleep, Meggie mine.”

“But I’m not sleepy.”

He watched her, his gray eyes weary, saying nothing, simply waiting to see what she wished. It grieved her, what this strong, good man would do for her, and it made her uneasy too.

She fit her lips to his and whispered, “Make love to me, please.”

And he complied as he had with every other thing she’d asked of him.

He ran his long, graceful fingers into her hair and grasped the back of her head, holding her, embracing her, making her feel cherished.

His tongue licked into her mouth, gently probing, gently tracing her teeth and the roof of her mouth. She caught his tongue and suckled, pressing her palm against his chest so she could feel his heat, the steadfast beat of his heart. His mouth opened against hers, slanting, nibbling at the corner of her lips. He slid over her cheek to her temple, kissing her tenderly there.

“Godric,” she whispered, her voice catching.

There was something he intended to do, something involving Lord Kershaw, and she thought she should find out what it was, make him confess his secrets.

But then he caught the skirts of her chemise and flung it up over her hip and she forgot. He kissed her on the mouth and drew back, watching her as he took her upper leg and drew it over his own, opening her. His hand dropped again, and she felt as he delved between her thighs, gently stroking.

Her eyelids drooped, and her hand rose to his jaw, bringing him closer so she could kiss him again as his knuckle brushed against her clitoris. He pressed there, and she arched her hips into his hand, wanting more, until he withdrew his hand. She moaned in protest, hearing his breathless hush in reply, and then she felt his bare cock against her thigh.

She opened her eyes, staring into his.

“Come closer,” he whispered.

She did, inching close, so close that her hips were against his and she felt him at her entrance.

He moved slowly, pressing inside, widening her, making his own place for himself in her body. She watched his face as he breached her. His eyebrows were slightly knit, his mouth curved down. There was something in his dark eyes, a kind of sorrowful well, and she leaned forward to kiss him again.

Then he was as far inside her as he could go. He rocked against her, the movement gentle but strong. She tightened her leg against his still-clad buttocks, rocking with him, and they moved together like a rolling wave.

He gasped a little, his mouth against hers, and she bit down on his lip, opening her eyes lazily, lost in bliss.

Tears stood in his eyes.

She drew back, growing still, shocked. But he blinked and hitched her leg higher, pressing his thumb just above the place where they were joined. And she forgot, leaning into him, wanting this to last a lifetime, this slow movement, this gradual swelling.

He shifted a little higher and she gasped. With every slow grind, he was drawing across that sensitive point, lighting sparks within her.

He kissed her again, his mouth almost wild in contrast to the movement of his hips. It was building now, that savage feeling, and she was making tiny noises in her throat. Noises she couldn’t control. He splayed his hand against her cheek, his thumb between her lips. She licked his thumb and he thrust hard against her.

She clutched at him, so close, almost there, and then his hand was stroking, pressing, and the sparks burst into flames behind her eyes. She cried out, arching her neck, nearly breaking their kiss, but he followed her, hungrily feeding on her mouth.

He thrust one last time, powerfully, and she felt the flood of his semen within her.

There was something … something she wanted to know. Something she should ask of him, but her limbs were liquid soft, warm and languid, and she couldn’t move, couldn’t think.

She felt the brush of his lips against her brow and the whisper of three words, but she was already so close to sleep it might’ve been a dream.

GODRIC WAITED UNTIL Megs’s breathing became deep and even, and then he waited longer. Much longer than he should’ve, but then she’d become his weakness. His Achilles’ heel, the one person who had reached deep down inside him and grasped his heart, squeezing until it started beating again.

She’d brought him back to life.

And in return it was only fair that he gift her with a death.

By the time he finally moved, it was after dusk, which was just as well since it was his element. He huffed out a breath, nearly but not quite a laugh. Godric St. John: Lord of Darkness. He looked down at her as he eased from the bed. Why such a creature of light and love and life should have come to him, he could not fathom. But he was grateful.

Very grateful.

He wanted to kiss her one last time, to impress her beauty upon his mind and carry it with him on whatever journey this night brought him, but he feared to wake her.